


Friend Fiction is the Best Fiction

by erunamiryene



Series: Codex: Sartoris Legacy [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Fairy Tales, Gen, Genre Studies, Humor, Poetry, Pulp
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-03-14 08:51:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3404591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erunamiryene/pseuds/erunamiryene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kryn, being the mischief maker she is, likes to write friend fiction (or more accurately, fam!fiction) about her sisters and their crews.   These are not always well received by the subjects of said fam!fiction, not that this stops Kryn from writing it.</p><p>More character and pair tags coming as the chapters update.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Assault Gunner of Her Heart

**Author's Note:**

> In this chapter:  
> Raitlia - the very upstanding, duty-driven oldest Sartoris sister, who has little to no patience for silliness. 
> 
> Kryn - second oldest, makes up for Raitlia's humorlessness in spades, a fact Raitlia really doesn't appreciate. 
> 
> Semiri - the third in line, is a gray Jedi with a mischievous streak (she has a collection of selfies from Rakata Prime and consistently takes credits off of Scourge when they play pazaak).

Tanno and Elara were huddled together in a back corner of the lounge, heads bent over a datapad. Tanno was reading dramatically.

“‘As the flames from the wreckage of the downed Star Destroyer illuminated the darkness in the flickering colors of Armageddon, the incredibly brave, irresistibly alluring Major Raitlia Sartoris shook her hair out of its normal severe updo, raven locks flowing to frame her tanned, symmetrical face. Her eyes were like two emerald orbs, shining verdant at Aric - her executive officer, her steadfast rock, the love of her life, who had escaped the crash with only his trousers and boots intact. His muscular frame was accentuated by the glow of the incandescent inferno. Silhouetted by the conflagration of their victory, they embraced, their love scorching the ebon night, burning hotter than -‘”

Raitlia stuck her head around the corner. ”Vik, _what_ are you reading?”

"Oh, uhh … nothin’, sir." He hurriedly shoved the datapad behind his back.

Raitlia looked over at Elara. "Dorne, why are you grinning like that?"

"Like what, sir?" Elara asked, biting her lip to keep from laughing.

There was a very long pause. When she finally spoke, Raitlia's tone was pure cold fury. “… My sister left another one, didn’t she?”

They both sniggered.

"How is she getting them into my house?" Raitlia fumed. "And you two aren't helping!" she snapped as she stomped away, yanking her holocom out of her pocket. “Kryn’la, you are _so dead_. And you better answer this time!" 

\--

Kryn watched her holocom beep, grinning. Once. Twice. Three times. When it stopped, she picked it up and keyed in Semiri's code. "I take it you got the latest chapter of 'Assault Gunner of Her Heart' into the house?"

Semiri laughed. "Has she already tried to call you?"

"Of course." Kryn shrugged. "I didn't answer, naturally."

"She is gonna be _so_ mad," Semiri said, shaking her head. "But I hear Elara's been collecting them. I think she's putting them together into one volume for Aric."

"How _delightful_!" Kryn chirped. "I'll have to make the next one extra-special. Thanks again for delivering these, sis."

"It's worth it, even though Scourge rolls his eyes every time I drop one off." Semiri rolled her eyes. "He really needs more of a sense of humor. Let me know when the next one is done!"

"Will do. Talk to you later." Kryn disconnected, then pulled out a datapad and started writing.


	2. The Case of the Slaughtered Sith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kryn's next target is Rafana. Since Rafana used to be an Imperial agent, the only story that would do is a hardboiled detective story.

**The Case of the Slaughtered Sith**  
_From the files of Detective Rafana “Too Old for This Shit” Sartoris_

I’ve been out of the game for awhile. After my agency got disbanded, I went freelance, took odd jobs here and there. Put down a few prison revolts. Dealt with too many Hutts (but even one Hutt is too many). Spent more time on icy planets than I care to contemplate. Did a little off the books detective work around Kaas City, but that led to more trouble than it was worth and lately I’d been contemplating getting off-world.

A week ago, I’d been holed up in my office, looking forward to my nice quiet Friday evening - an evening where I wasn’t throwing bolts, filling someone with daylight, or getting socked in the jaw. A nice quiet evening where I could dip my bill in the bottle of Onderon whiskey that I’d just opened - smooth with just a hint of spice, and that famous mouth-tingling finish - and watch one of my favorite flicks on the HoloNet. I’d just kicked back and put my feet on my desk, whiskey in my hand, when I saw the shadow in my doorway. He spoke, and I knew my nice quiet night was about to get spaced. 

“Detective Sartoris.” 

His voice was sonorous, the kind of voice you couldn’t help but pay attention to, the kind that sent tingles down to your toes when he said your name. The overhead light made his impeccably styled hair and his cybernetics gleam, and his eyes, the deep blue of an Alderaanian evening sky, were just as captivating as I remembered from our brief - and ill-advised - fling. (Turns out, though, pretty eyes and skill in the sack aren’t enough to make me like Sith.)

I sighed, swinging my feet off my desk and taking out my trusty datapad. “Darth Ravage. And here I thought I’d never see you again.” I gestured at the chair on the other side of my desk. “Sit down and tell me what’s going on.”

He sat. “My colleague, and one of my _dearest_ friends, Darth Nox … has been blipped off.”

I’d had enough entanglements with Sith to know that no way would this be an open and shut case, and I was likely to get rubbed out myself if I so much as sniffed around - Force users don’t take kindly to people poking around in their business. Frankly, one less Sith made the Empire better, in my opinion. 

“You’re gonna have to make it worth my while,” I said. “You’re no stranger to my opinion of ... you types.”

“I’m well aware,” he said, sitting back in the chair. “Imperial bulls won’t touch it - ‘Sith business,’ they say - and even if they would they’re hopelessly incompetent. I can’t investigate it on my own without neglecting the war effort, and anything I’d do would just draw attention to the case anyway.” He leaned forward. “I’m really behind the eight ball here. I know we haven’t always been on the best terms -”

I couldn’t help the snort of derision that came out of my mouth. Last time I saw him, he’d been promising to have me knocked off if he ever saw me again. “That’s one way to put it.”

“- but this isn’t about me, this is about her.” He studied my face, blue eyes as sincere as I supposed a Sith’s could get. “Please, Rafana … you’re my only hope.”

He was really laying it on thick, and if I heard much more I was gonna find out what that whiskey tasted like coming back the other direction. “All right, all _right_. Cut the sob story, I’ll help you." I finished my drink. "Not for you, but because Nox was the only decent one of you punks on the Council.”

\--

Rafana looked up from the datapad, mouth twisted in a moue of distaste. “She made me have a fling with a _Sith_.”

Kaliyo snorted with laughter. “Well, you know … you go out to the cantina, things get a little crazy, you lower your standards, and next thing-”

“No. Ugh.” Rafana vigorously shook her head. “Ew! _No_.” 

Kaliyo looked over Rafana’s shoulder. “I mean, she at least made him sound good-looking. Well, sort of. That oughta count for something, right?”

“No, it doesn’t count for something.” Rafana flipped through the pages. “She wrote the whole damn story. Of _course_ she’s the victim. Of _course_ Ravage betrays me. How does she have enough free time to pen this junk? I _knew_ the Council didn’t do jack.”

“We were very impressed with your combat prowess in the final fight,” Vector said from the lounge. “You showed great determination.”

Rafana glared at him. “You read it, too?”

“Of course.” He smiled. “We were hoping that you might ask Kryn’la to make us your junior partner next time.”

Rafana’s mouth fell open. “You want me to submit _requests_. To my clearly imbalanced sister.”

Vector nodded. “If we were there, perhaps you wouldn’t have been beaten within an inch of your life.”

“Oh, she did _not_ ,” Rafana huffed, scrolling through the pages to get to the end.

\--

I hurtled into the Dark Council chambers, sure that I would find Marr there.

I did, but I'd been expecting he'd be alive ... not decapitated in front of his Council seat.

"Oh, Rafana," Ravage said, coming out from behind Marr’s chair. "I left you so many clues. I did everything in my power to point you at Marr, that blind, power-hungry sap. I even distracted you with that idiotic conspiracy in the military ranks. And you couldn't just take what you were given and be happy with it." He shook his head. "No, twists like you always have to keep _digging_ , have to keep _checking_ , have to know _everything_. And this time, it finally caught up with you." 

Now, you can’t sit and wait for Sith to fight fair, so I had a flashbang at the ready, which I promptly tossed in his face as soon as he went for his lightsaber. And they never expect you to fight up close, so I tackled him to the ground, grinning as his head made contact with the floor, and stuck him with one of my electro-knives, sending his cybernetics on the fritz.

He roared in pain and threw me off, sending me flying across the room. Luckily the Council chamber has a bunch of those god-awful tacky Council chairs, so I dove for cover and peppered him with blaster bolts.

As soon as he was up on me I knew I was in for a world of hurt. Shields can block a lot of the damage from a lightsaber but you still have the force of the blow, not to mention the lightning they’re so damned fond of. I was blowing through my kolto far faster than I’d planned, and knew something had to give before I bought the metaphorical farm. 

Lucky for me, Sith like to throw all the energy up at the beginning and then find themselves wiped out at the end of the fight. Blah blah, ‘there is only passion,’ whatever it is they say. Doesn’t work, not long-term. I’ve been in enough fights with Force users - and have the scars to show for it - to know that eventually, they’re gonna be wiped out. It’s just a matter of how long it takes, and if you can outlast them. 

I jammed my last kolto dart in my leg, knew it wasn’t going to be enough to fix my now-wonky ankle, angrily wiped blood off my face - since when do Sith throw punches? - and activated my stealth generator. Sneaking around behind him, I planted one knife in between his ribs and slashed a Taris sunset across his face with another.

“You won’t kill me,” he gasped, futilely scrabbling at the knife in his ribs with one hand while trying to staunch the flow of blood from his face with the other. “That would make you just like us.”

“Worth it to get rid of scum like you,” I growled, planting a boot in his chest and kicking him to the ground. “The law’s no good when it comes to you Sith, and I’m sick of you fucking up the Empire for the rest of us.”

A laser dot on the forehead, a breath out. A trigger squeeze, and he dropped dead.

I’m getting off this rock; this planet’s lousy with Sith and if I never see another one again, it’ll be too soon. 

\--

“I liked that you killed him,” SCORPIO said. “I was concerned that you’d give him to Imperial security.”

“Oh, for -” Rafana made a disgusted noise and tossed the datapad on the table. “I can’t believe you guys read this drivel.”

“Come on, agent,” Kaliyo said, grinning. “You know there’s a little tiny part of you that really, really liked it. She let you kill Sith!”

“Well … that’s true.” Rafana sighed. “Still, she doesn’t need encouragement. One of these days she’s gonna write about Lysch and get kicked in the face.”

“I _do_ hope she makes that one a romance novel like she did the one about Raitlia,” Temple chimed in. “That scene with her and Aric shadowed by the flame of the Star Destroyer … I just loved it.”

Rafana shook her head. “If I find out you guys are sending her fan mail ….”


	3. The Knight and the Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kryn writes a fairy tale for Semiri.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place after [Aberration](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3961576).

_Once upon a time…_

in a land torn by war and strife and suspicion, there lived a brave knight named Semiri, with shining ebony hair and piercing sky blue eyes. She was bold of spirit and noble of heart, a wandering adventurer who valued freedom and justice above all other things, a welcome sight both to the weary and downtrodden, and on the field of battle. 

One day, she chanced upon a glade surrounded by tall, sinister trees, untouched by the sunlight. In the center of the glade was a tower, its stones black as a moonless midnight, and it loomed over the too-calm clearing with a palpable air of malevolence. Semiri took a deep breath, drew her sword, and approached it, determined to face whatever evil surely lay within before it could wreak havoc on the peaceful village nearby.

The ornately carved wooden door swung open with a tortured groan from its rusty hinges, and a chill breeze rushed over Semiri, making her skin prickle. She crept through the deep gloom, tensed and waiting for a confrontation.

“Why have you come?”

She spun around, sword extended. In the central room, lit by candlelight, stood a beautiful man, strong and strapping. “Who are you?”

He offered her a courtly bow, but made no move to come closer. “I am Prince Scourge.”

“I … don’t think so," Semiri scoffed. "That's impossible."

The man blinked, nonplussed at her reply. “What?”

“Prince Scourge is nothing more than a story. The legend says he was sealed away from the world by the mad king Vitiate, who wanted to keep him all for himself. The cursed prince was made immortal, but doomed to an immortality of solitude, never knowing the small joys of the world or the love of another.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “That’s an excellent summation of my current situation, yes.”

Semiri stared at him for a long moment, dismayed to find that she was more smitten by the minute. “And no one’s rescued you?” Her brows knit together as her outrage grew at this blatant miscarriage of justice. "You've stood here for centuries alone?" She drew herself to her full height, her voice cutting through the surrounding darkness. “Well, I, Semiri, vow that I will find a way to release you! Await my return, for it will herald your freedom from this horrific curse!”

She traveled the length and breadth of the land in her search. In each village she visited, she heard tales of the mad sorceress Kryn’la, said to be extraordinarily gifted, even in the obscure and forbidden arts. An aged hermit with a shock of snow-white hair, living on the edge of the Plain of Sorrow, told her of another like himself residing in the Seething Swamps, there to direct the true-seeking supplicant toward the sorceress. The second hermit, a veritable copy of the first, sent her to traverse the Lightning Lands, insistent that she would find the sorceress there, if her intent was pure enough and her need great enough. 

At long last, after Semiri felled a great nightmare beast of horns and teeth and thunder and knelt gasping for breath upon the loamy ground, the sorceress’ home revealed itself, tucked into a nearby cliffside. The sorceress herself was seated on her porch, preternaturally youthful and ravishing, with vibrant scarlet hair and a sardonic smile. She looked up from her tome as the warrior approached. 

“Ah, so you have come, Semiri of the Sentinel Blade."

Semiri stopped a short distance away, hands on her hips. "Sorceress Kryn'la, it is whispered far and wide that you are a master of arcane arts both common and inscrutable. Following the directions of your acolytes, I have sought you out to petition for your assistance in rescuing a man sorely cursed."

"Will you not bend your knee?" The sorceress rose from her chair, ebon robes flowing behind her as she closed the space between them. "Will you not prostrate yourself before me? Are you not frightened that I will also curse you?"

Semiri, being of stout heart, did not move, did not even flinch. "No, my lady. You will help me, or you won't, and I do not believe any amount of bowing will change what course you have likely already decided upon."

The silence spun out as the sorceress regarded the knight, the slightest of smiles curling her lips. "It is as I foresaw. If you can pass the trials, I will give you what you request, Semiri of the Sentinel Blade." She pointed toward an opening in the cave. "Your first trial awaits. Do not keep the Apprentices waiting." Without waiting for Semiri to move, she strode back to her seat, resuming her reading.

Semiri battled the fierce Apprentices to conquer the Trial of Strength, defeated the cunning Pirate at dice to win the Trial of Luck, impressed the learned Scholar with her careful reasoning to succeed at the Trial of Knowledge, and withstood the punishments of the stalwart Guardian to persevere through the Trial of Endurance, returning to the sorceress in high spirits. “My lady, I have passed your trials." She proffered her hand, revealing the tokens she had received. "I offer you the proof of my success.”

The sorceress turned from her workbench, pleased. “I knew you would.” She held out a vial, full of violet clouds and brilliant white lightning, a violent, twisting storm in a bottle. "Take this. He must consume every drop. The pain will be fearsome, nigh unbearable, for the curses of the Mad King are not so easily broken. But if he can endure it, and you can endure standing by as he bears this writhing agony, he will be free."

Semiri reached for the bottle, then drew back her hand. "And the catch?"

A wide, genuine smile graced the sorceress' face. "Clever girl! Such a simple and obvious thing, yet so many do not think to ask. There is a possibility the the curse will not be broken, but rather transferred to the nearest person."

"Me," Semiri whispered.

"Are you willing to pay even this price for your prince's freedom, Semiri of the Sentinel Blade?" Kryn'la asked solemnly. "Will you take his place, eons passing you by as you languish in the candle-filled room, the world's pleasures lost to you for eternity?"

There was not even a moment's hesitation. "Yes, Sorceress. I vowed to free him, and I will, even if it comes at the cost of my life and freedom."

"I expected as much," Kryn'la said, studying Semiri's face. "Perhaps what you are feeling is True Love, and it will aid in your endeavors." Her expression softened for the briefest moment before resuming its usual sternness. "Now begone, I must resume my studies and you have a prince to save."

Semiri thundered across the countryside, the vial strung on a length of leather and cradled against her chest, and last she arrived at the tower, unchanged from how she left it many moons ago. She leapt off her horse, heaved open the door, and strode into the oppressive gloom. "My prince!"

Scourge appeared in the same room he'd been in last time. "Semiri?"

She extracted the vial, cradling it gingerly in one palm. "I have acquired a potion that can break your curse. But the sorceress informed me it will be excruciatingly painful. Do you still wish to be free?"

"No pain can be greater than an eternal solitary lifetime. I will bear it, if it means being able to leave this room again."

She crossed the vestibule and handed him the bottle, then stepped back. He stared at it for a long moment. "Something so simple to destroy this curse," he marveled. "I would never have dared dream such a thing even existed." His hand paused on the stopper. "Will you keep watch, Semiri? If something should go wrong, for you never know with magic of this nature, will you end it?"

She took a deep breath, then unsheathed her sword and assumed her ready stance. "I will."

He uncorked the vial, the unmistakable smell of lightning filled the air, and he tilted it up, the last of the storm disappearing from the bottle.

Silence fell, briefly, over the tower. 

Scourge's hands began to shake, and the vial fell to the blackened stones, shattering into a million pieces all winking in the candlelight. His hands tightened into fists, and he fell to his knees, arms wrapped around his chest as though to hold himself together. A stomach-turning wail rent the unnatural quiet of the tower, bursting forth from his mouth like a loosed monster. 

Semiri gulped, but stood her ground, when she saw the dark tendrils snaking out of his body, writhing, curling around each other, pausing to scent the air. She steeled her nerves, head held high, and silently reaffirmed her vow to take his place if that was what was required of her. 

A keening, so high-pitched as to be on the very edge of hearing, filled her ears, and acrid smoke billowed out of the candlelit room as the tendrils withered away into nothingness. As it cleared, she saw the prince prone on the cold stones, and rushed to his side, relieved when she could tell he was still breathing.

"I think 'excruciatingly painful' was something of an understatement," he muttered weakly, opening his eyes. "But I'm glad you were here."

She smiled and extended her hand. "Shall we leave this awful tower?"

Outside, the door to the tower firmly shut behind them, she turned to look at him, grinning when she saw him standing with face upturned toward the azure sky, smile on his face as the breeze caressed his skin. "What will you do with your newfound freedom, Prince Scourge?"

He held out his hand to Semiri, pulling her close when she took it. "I will cross the land with a brave and beautiful warrior, and see what adventures await us." Their lips met as the sunlight broke through the trees for the first time in centuries.

\--

"Hey, boss." Kira drops down on the couch and nudges Semiri. "What was in that package you got?"

"Oh!" Semiri starts, hurriedly swipes at the tears on her cheeks. "Just a fairy tale, that's all."

Kira's eyebrow shoots toward her hairline. "Someone sent you a fairy tale?"

Semiri nods. "It's a silly thing, really. My sister always has had a flair for the dramatic and ridiculous." She cradles the datapad to her chest. "I'm going to go put this away."


	4. The Night Before Life Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kryn has hit upon the perfect gift for her grumpiest sister. Envexa belongs to [RiaJade01](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RiaJade01).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
>  _razut nuyak_ \- "my love"  
>  _kûskaljuz_ \- literally "she who dreams," usually translated as "dreamer," used here as a term of endearment

[1]  
Marr sets his datapad aside when Kryn drops down onto the couch next to him, a large flat volume in her hands. He takes it when she offers and looks through the pages. “Who did you commission to illustrate this? They’re quite skilled.”

“A Rattataki Sith artist named Envexa. Senna referred her to me.” Kryn smiles as she leans around him, rereading the verses. “She was surprisingly willing to help me with a present for the Wrath; I expected more reticence, honestly. I need to bring some of our translated texts to her and see if she’d be willing to illustrate some of the stories.”

Marr is quiet for a moment, turning pages. “‘Emperor _Consort_?’” He arches one brow. “That’s what I get? That’s it?”

“Who says it’s you?” At his wounded look, she laughs aloud. “Oh, don’t give me that face! You hate politics; I was just trying to grant your wish.” Her expression turns sly. “I took out the verse where you had to kneel.”

“I suppose you want thanks for that?”

Kryn grins widely. “No. I know already. Anyway, do you think she’ll like it?”

He closes the book. “I think she’ll think it’s a frivolous waste of time, but if you don’t see it on a prominent shelf in her house I’ll be very surprised.”

“Good!” Kryn plucks it out of his hands. “I’m having another copy done for us, of course, to put with the others I’ve written. I need to wrap this one and have a courier deliver it tonight, though. Life Day is tomorrow and I’m cutting this closer than I’d prefer.”

[2]  
The falling rain blurs the view from Qadit’s lofty window, casting Life Day lights below in multicolored smears that dance on the transparisteel and the walls. She and Lysch are curled up on her small couch, mugs of generously spiked caf in their hands as they watch Qadit’s favorite Life Day holo.

The doorbell chimes; Qadit hands her mug to Lysch and answers it, returning with a beautifully wrapped package. “For you, _razut nuyak_.”

Lysch sets both mugs on the low table and pauses the holo. She takes the package, waiting for Qadit to sit down and pull the blanket up around them before she examines it. “From you?”

“No.” Qadit smiles and nudges her. “It’s a mystery! Open it. And none of this suspicion you’re so fond of. It’s Life Day, so it isn’t allowed.”

Lysch grumbles, but not before Qadit sees a hint of a smile play at the corner of the Wrath’s mouth. She carefully, precisely removes the sparkly, glitter-coated paper with a rising sense of dread, scowling as loose glitter falls like snow across their blanket. Her suspicions are confirmed when she notes the scrawled signature in the bottom left corner of the cover. “It’s … from my sister.”

“She sent you a book?” Qadit peers over Lysch’s shoulder. “Look at those illustrations! They’re beautiful. It’s a gorgeous execution of the traditional style.” She scans one of the pictures. “I wonder why they aren’t signed, though. I’d like to compliment the artist.” When Lysch doesn’t speak, Qadit raises one brow ridge. “Lysch? What is it?”

“My sister thinks she is funny.” Lysch turns the wide, handbound pages of flimsy. “She has written a poem about me.”

Qadit reaches for the book. “Can I read it?”

“Only because it will make you happy, _kûskaljuz_." 

Qadit clears her throat and begins to read.

_Twas the night before Life Day and all through the Empire_  
_Not a creature was stirring, not even a shire._  
_The estate sparkled and shone, a truly festive affair,_  
_From the tallest of rafters to my favorite armchair._

_The apprentices dozed all snug in their beds_  
_While dreams of promotion danced in their heads._  
_The Empress chuckled, lips curved in usual jest_  
_As she and I settled in for a much-deserved rest._

_When outside our walls I sensed something coming -_  
_A great Force disturbance, angry and thrumming._  
_I slipped out of bed and stayed out of sight,_  
_Peered through the transparisteel into the night._

_The Dromund Kaas evening was shadowed and dark_  
_Until floodlights activated, brilliant and stark,_  
_And what to my searching eyes should appear_  
_But a blood red speeder and its rider austere._

_Black armor her bulwark from her head to her feet,_  
_She bore crimson sabers that had known no defeat._  
_A scowl twisted her face as she inspected the scene;_  
_Sharp were her eyes and unforgiving her mien._

_The snap of a branch drew her gaze in a flash._  
_“I know that you’re here; don’t do anything rash._  
_You’ve chosen poorly, your betrayal’s your downfall,”_  
_She snapped, her voice colder than Hoth after nightfall._

_“You thought to attack our Empress with impunity,_  
_Thought it wise to endanger the Empire’s unity?”_  
_She was menace personified, clearly on the warpath._  
_“You thought you’d be safe from the blades of the Wrath?”_

_The unseen assailant stepped into the light,_  
_Never before had I seen a Sith so uptight._  
_His overgelled hair gleamed like a lake on Naboo,_  
_And I knew this attack hadn’t come out of the blue._

_A faction of Sith refused to accept our new leader,_  
_And quietly made plans to attempt to unseat her._  
_With a longstanding grudge retained from years past,_  
_He’d led them and plotted, his time come at long last._

_He closed with the Wrath, his face twisted with hate._  
_“Her rule violates our traditions and what makes us great!_  
_She’s an embarrassment, a shame, nothing more than a slave,_  
_And she belongs with a master, else in a prison or grave.”_

_His lightsaber ignited; he leapt forth with a roar,_  
_Hellbent on his mission, the Empire’s honor to restore._  
_The Wrath merely watched, not hiding her smirk,_  
_She pivoted like lightning, her blades coming up with a jerk._

_The rebellion was ended as soon as it started_  
_When the fool and his head were brutally parted._  
_The Wrath found his saber, pocketed it with a smile_  
_Then stood up and turned, light limning her profile._

_She paused then looked where I was still standing, alone._  
_“Do tell Her Majesty I have again defended her throne,_  
_And if there are no further miscreants requiring correction,_  
_I’ll take my leave, rout their poor, sad insurrection.”_

_I nodded and she bowed. “Farewell, Emperor Consort,”_  
_Then vanished like smoke, seeking more foes she could thwart._  
_She was as she always is, curt and severe,_  
_With no Life Day mention and no hint of cheer._

Qadit finishes and looks over at Lysch. “I think it’s a fine present. You sound very much like yourself in this. You shouldn’t give it such a cantankerous look.”

“If you say.” Lysch harrumphs. “I thought maybe she’d pass me over in her determination to write silliness about each of us.”

Qadit sets the book on the caf table. “I’m glad she didn’t. If we see her tomorrow, I shall have to thank her for her thoughtfulness.” She takes Lysch’s hands, absentmindedly running her thumbs over Lysch’s knuckles. “Start the holo again, _razut nuyak_?”


End file.
